


Salus Novum

by Lassendri



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, D/s, M/M, Veela!Draco, Violence, WIP, powerful!Harry, veela fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassendri/pseuds/Lassendri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sent to strike a truce between the wizards and the Veela, Harry must bow to their Alpha's wishes or risk destroying them all. But the wizards had only one thing Alpha Draco ever wanted, and he'll stop at nothing until Harry is his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This isn't what I signed up for

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being moved from AFF under my previous pen name Fallen. All new updates will now occur on this site.

“Lost, wizardling?” a deep voice purred with poorly hidden derision.

 

Had Harry not gone through the years of extensive training required by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he might have jumped. As it was, he managed to conceal his surprise by drawing his wand and leveling it at the brawny man before him with an air of authority. Mentally chastising himself for being so oblivious, he twirled the tip of his old holly wand in a lazy circle that looked unintentional, but in reality was sending small slivers of magic pinging around the walls of the cavern like muggle sonar. 

 

It was a useful little spell Hermione had invented shortly after the war when she'd been targeted by a rogue werewolf for a time. Sighing soundlessly when the scanner charm revealed no other creatures in the vicinty but the one before him, he lowered his wand with a sardonic grin.

 

"Hardly," he drawled with a tight flash of teeth that would have sent smarter creatures running. He hadn’t detected the massive Veela until it had emerged from the thick shadows that hugged the underground tunnels he was navigating, which, he supposed, was exactly how they preferred it. Wearing nothing more than a pair of leather pants and rippling muscles, Harry could admit, somewhat clinically, that the imposing blond looked formidable.

 

“Is that so?” the Veela hissed, flaring his golden-white wings out in a show of dominance.

 

Ceasing the rhythmic tapping of wand against the leg of his dusty denim jeans, he gave a stiff nod of acknowledgement to the other as the slimy, foreign magic he usually kept leashed deep within him rushed giddily to the surface of his skin at the threat of violence. Harry smiled before letting it spill forth in a deadly wave that was formed of both sharp and scaled things that had the Veela screeching in anger and not a little pain. He might not have had wings, but Harry knew a pissing contest when he saw one. When dealing with Veela, it was survival of the fittest; you either proved yourself the top dog, or you became everyone's bitch. Harry didn't have time for dominance games; he had a job to do.

 

After Voldemort’s death, some of the Dark Lord’s residual magic had sought out the nearest compatible host, namely Harry, and had fused with his magical core. He didn’t like using it, Voldemort’s magic felt thick and somewhat sludge-like compared to his own, but it came in handy at times like these when certain wizards or creatures didn't know when to back off.

 

Walking forward with confident, measured steps, Harry tried his best to loom over the Veela who was spitting like a cat on a hot tin roof. Not that he could really, he winced mentally, the Dursleys had seen to that. His diminutive frame wouldn’t ever be an inch over 5’ 6”, and even that much had taken a team of St. Mungo's elite healers specializing in the treatment of abuse victims nearly four months of shoving experimental nutritional potions down his throat. Harry vowed never to touch another cherry-flavored potion as long as he lived.

 

Fishing inside of his dark robes with his free hand he extracted a long translucent feather that was attached to an enchanted gold chain looped loosely around his neck. Holding it in such a way that it caught a sliver of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the tunnel’s ceiling, he goaded, “Is this the way your Flight greets its guests? I come under the wing of your Alpha. Take me to him.”

 

As if Harry had stuck a pin in him, the creature deflated with a scowl. Rising out of the defensive crouch he’d sunk into, the Veela scuttled closer with a wary eye fixed on Harry’s holly wand. Snatching the feather out of his grasp, the Veela retreated several feet, the enchanted chain stretching to accommodate. Harry watched with a bored expression as the creature skimmed his nose along the vane and inhaled deeply once he reached the fluffy down at the base, presumably scenting for his Alpha. Shooting Harry a suspicious glance, he released the token and let it shrink back to its original size, settling at the base of Harry's throat.

 

“Briste,” the Veela grunted, reluctantly touching the tip of his left wing to his forehead.

 

“Harry,” he copied, tapping his middle finger in a slow, deliberate gesture against his own. Traditionally it was supposed to be the thumb, but judging by Briste’s scowl the insult had been received loud and clear.

 

“Follow,” Briste snapped whirling away with an angry fold of his wings, leading Harry deeper into the underground caverns of his Flight’s home.

 

Deciding to keep his wand out for good measure, Harry fell into step behind the Veela with a small smirk. _Potter- 1 Veela- 0_ , he mentally chuckled seeing the tell-tale signs of frustration vibrating up and down the other’s wings. Hermione would’ve scolded him for his lack of diplomacy if she’d come; Harry was glad the department had decided to make this a solo mission.

 

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had become aloof from his friends and supporters, hiding out in Grimmauld Place to escape the suffocating swell of notoriety that had impossibly multiplied after Voldemort’s defeat. He was tired of the awed whispers that followed his every step, the barely-hidden fear in some of their eyes and the Ministry’s manipulation over every facet of his life. Harry had done his duty; he wasn’t going to play the martyring savior of the wizarding world anymore. Let someone else do it for a change. Merlin knew Britain had its share of witches and wizards lining up to seize their "rightful share of glory" in the immediate aftermath of the war.

 

He’d stayed that way, rejecting all but the occasional visit from Ron and Hermione, for several months. His best friends, thankfully, knew enough to give him space to sort his demons out on his own terms. Instead, he and Kreacher had spent all of their time-- and quite a bit of Harry's money-- on the daunting task of restoring the Black Manor to its former glory. Being stripped of most dark artifacts save for the few that classified as borderline-dark, Grimmauld Place had become something of an actual home for Harry with Kreacher as a stern care-taker-cum-mother hen.

 

It was, ironically, Ginny that pulled him from his self-induced exile. She stormed her way into his sitting room one day after forcing Ron to reveal the password that lowered his private wards, demanding that he talk to her. She launched into a selfish rant about his responsibilities to her and the rest of wizarding world and had threatened to leave him if he didn’t man up. When he asked her what delusion had ever made her think they were still a couple in the first place, he’d been greeted with the nastiest Bat-Bogey hex St. Mungo’s had treated to date.

 

He chuckled quietly at the memory causing Briste to glance over his shoulder with a withering glare.

 

After that, Harry had decided never to bother with anyone’s expectations other than his own. If he had to sacrifice his childhood for the greater good then he was damn well going to live his adult life exactly the way he wanted to. He turned down invitations to join the auror program (coupled with copious begging from Ron) and various other freelance anti-dark jobs. He wasn’t a soldier; he wanted to do some real good with his life, something to help those who couldn’t speak for themselves. When Hermione told him about the new campaign for equal rights she was spearheading within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Harry jumped at the chance to help. The Head of the Department, Thaddius Sprockhurt, had welcomed him with open arms, and most importantly—a nice, quiet desk job.

 

Which was why his current predicament was such a shock.

 

Nearly three years into his safe, paper-pushing work for elf suffrage and mere-people preserves, Thaddius had dropped a bombshell. He remembered the way the Head had wrung his hands when Harry walked into his office and how he’d immediately gotten the feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever was about to happen.

 

“Mr. Potter,” Thaddius had wheezed behind his desk, dabbing at his brow with a large chartreuse handkerchief that was often seen dangling from the front of his robes. Harry sank reluctantly into the chair opposite him, the man's obvious nervousness setting off warning bells inside his head. “There is a matter of extreme importance that the Department and I must beg of you…”

 

Folding his arms warily across his chest, Harry reluctantly nodded for the other to continue.

 

“Well, you see…” Thaddius cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room in a gesture of malaise, “I know when you agreed to work for us, your one stipulation was no fieldwork--”

 

Harry immediately cut him off, not liking where this was going, “I still stand by that, Sir.”

 

“Ah, well… the department is in a bit of a bind I’m afraid.”

 

“Then send someone else to fix it, you know my terms,” Harry scowled, gripping the arms of the chair tightly enough to hurt.

 

“Frankly, Mr. Potter, there is no one else,” the Head answered gravely, steepling his fingers beneath his chin in resignation. “Does the name Draco Malfoy mean anything to you?”

 

Harry flinched as if struck. How could it not? “We were childhood rivals, Sir. I don’t have to tell you all he was responsible for during the war,” _and after_ , he silently added. Draco had publically denounced his father in front of the full Wizengamot, single-handedly sending Lucius to Azkaban where numerous others had failed. His mother had left the continent not long after and Draco had been let-off due to the evidence confiscated from Dumbledore’s pensieve.

 

Thaddius nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair to survey Harry with an appraising glance. “What you probably don’t know, is all that he’s been doing since.”

 

Harry frowned, “I don’t understand, Sir.”

 

“You wouldn’t, no. Not quite under your jurisdiction. Draco Malfoy had the rather unfortunate luck to come into a Veela inheritance from his father’s side. Seems the Malfoys weren’t as pureblooded as they’d have liked everyone to believe, at least not in the way they’d claimed.”

 

Harry gaped at the Head with a mixture of horror and vindication, flashes of Veela reports he'd filed over the years swirling through his head. “Serves the slimy git right.” _What goes around comes around, Malfoy_ , Harry thought viciously, thinking of all the times he’d made Hermione’s life hell for her ‘dirty bloodedness’.

 

“Eh-hem, yes well I daresay we should keep our personal opinions to ourselves, Mr. Potter, considering your job is to ensure people like Mr. Malfoy are treated with respect and dignity despite their heritage,” he glared angrily.

 

Harry colored spectacularly, “Forgive me, Sir.”

 

Thaddius nodded, seeming to compose himself with a dab of his handkerchief for what he was going to say next. “Mr. Malfoy is what you would call a Brilliant Veela, meaning his feathers are completely colorless, rather prismatic almost. You can understand the level of power that would give him over the others of his own species.”

 

Harry groaned internally. Trust Draco to catapult himself to the top of the Veela hierarchy without even trying. Veela operated in an almost caste-like fashion only it was the color of their wings that earned them their place within the Flight. The purer white the color, the higher the Veela. Harry could only imagine how high a fucking rainbow Veela would be.

 

“Naturally by his coloring, he has carved out a new position in the typical Veela hierarchy. Over the past few months he has become the Alpha of nearly every Flight of Veelas we have on record. They’ve been flocking to him in droves. Our entire relationship with his species is in jeopardy if we don’t act quickly. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 

“Malfoy’s upsetting the natural order of things, you’re afraid he won’t honor the past truces those Flights had with the Ministry.”

 

Thaddius’ eyes flashed in disapproval, but he let Harry’s jab slide. “He is in control of thousands of Veela. He is an unknown factor.”

 

“So what do you need me for?” Harry sighed, rather put out by the whole thing.

 

Thaddius blinked at him like he was stupid, “Because he’s asked for you, of course.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You thought we hadn't been in touch with him before now? We’ve been working on a diplomacy bid for months, but he’s rejected all of our best mediators. When he found out you were working for us, he gave us an ultimatum.”

 

“Which was?” Harry ground his teeth.

 

“You or nothing,” Thaddius shrugged with a grave stare.

 

Those three little words had been the only things needed before the Department had shipped his arse out into the middle of nowhere with nothing but the clothes on his back and Malfoy’s feather around his neck. He spent days traversing the cliffs and hillsides searching for the entrance to the Veela’s den with hardly any information to go on save for rough apparition coordinates. He’d been sure Malfoy was watching and laughing at him somewhere, the evil git.

 

Finally, after a near week of searching, Harry had gotten a break. It was actually Voldemort’s magic that’d given him the clue. He’d unwittingly released some of it in frustration over his fruitless search and had blinked when it literally ate through the hillside, which had turned out to be an illusion-- a huge fucking undetectable illusion. Harry had shuddered back then to think about the amount of magic needed to hide an underground entrance the size of Hogwarts’ Great Hall.

 

Now, he realized, that amount had been mere child’s play. The Ministry had no fucking clue. They were all in way over their heads.

 

“Welcome to Salus Novum,” Briste gestured imperiously to the sprawling underground city carved entirely out of the granite rock face, the architecture more intricate and dazzling than any buildings Harry had ever seen. The cavern it was nestled in could’ve held ten Hogwarts castles easily. The ceiling was covered in glowing white crystals the size of small houses giving the underground lair its own light-source. This city had been created in a matter of months, Harry reminded himself. Even with a hundred of the world’s most talented wizards the Veela could never have done this. There was something truly terrifying Harry was missing here, but one thing was absolutely clear-- if Malfoy didn’t agree to the Ministry’s truce, they were all screwed.

 

“New Salvation, hm?” Harry mused on the Latin, attempting to look interested without belaying his fear as he leaned his head out over the ledge they’d emerged at.

 

“Our Alpha will bring a new age to the Veela,” Briste breathed with a fanatical gleam in his eye, “It is only fitting our city be the same.”

 

Harry nodded as if he had a clue what the other was talking about, all while trying to run through a list of scenarios where he could complete his job and come out alive; he licked his lips nervously. He had nothing to bargain with here, what could Malfoy possibly want from humans when he had all this? If he ever got out of here, Harry was going to kill Thaddius Sprockhurt.

 

“Come,” the Veela gestured impatiently, holding out a hand.

 

Harry blinked at the hand, then at the Veela. “What?”

 

Briste growled, cuffing Harry around the back of his knees with an outstretched wing, causing him to crumple into the Veela’s arms. “Only one way down,” he snarled into his ear, before plunging backward off the cliff, dragging Harry with him.

 

 _Oh! Shitshitshit!_ Harry panicked as they swooped toward the ground at a terrifying speed, the walls of the cavern blurring before his glasses. Harry loved flying more than anything, when he was in charge of the ride, that is. Not like this. Sensing his fear, Briste chuckled meanly twisting them in a tight spiral that had Harry wanting to retch. It seemed like ages before Harry felt them right and heard the snap of Briste’s wings open to slow their descent. By the time they reached the ground, Harry stumbled away drawing great heaving breaths as he tried to stop the panic attack threatening to wash over him.

 

“Pathetic,” Harry heard the Veela sneer when he placed his hands on his knees to stop the world from spinning.

 

“Bastard,” Harry coughed with a glare as he cast a spell to calm his breathing and get rid of his vertigo.

 

“Under my Alpha’s wing or not, you deserved it, filthy human,” Briste growled before strolling away toward one of the entrances. “Better keep up, I’ll not slow for you,” the Veela called over his shoulder.

 

 _Fucking over-grown bird_ , Harry seethed, jogging to catch up.


	2. The Hazy Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the old material. New chapter to come tonight :) Thanks for your patience, my lovelies!

Harry slowed as he caught up to the hulking Veela, determined to keep a sizable distance between them now that he’d seen how easily those innocuous wings could become a weapon. _That’s what I get for letting my guard down; as if Malfoy would ever give me a warm welcome_ , he snorted rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles in his back that had tensed during the fall. They'd landed on the outskirts of the city between the sheer cliff side and an enormous circular stone wall ringing Salus Novum, making the city impenetrable from both above and below. 

 

He glanced up in reluctant admiration as they neared a diagonal opening in the otherwise solid granite wall that parted invitingly the closer they approached, twisting into patterns and figures that made his eyes water the more he tried to study them. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t breathtaking-- the city's magic was beautiful, both complex and honest in its elegance. _Yet, the most beautiful rose conceals the deadliest thorns_ , Harry reminded himself, shivering as they passed beneath the writhing arch.

 

Emerging onto a narrow, deserted street sent his fingers tingling with the need to reach for his wand. He grasped the feather around his neck instead, figuring it’d be his best defense now that he was within Salus Novum’s walls. When the archway sealed shut behind them, Harry tried to ignore the crawling sensation beneath his skin that told him he was trapped.

 

“Where are we going?” he asked, gripping the feather tighter as Briste lead him through a maze of empty passages, some, he was sure, were not meant for a casual stroll.

 

“I’m taking you to the Alpha. Now shut up,” Briste grunted, surging ahead so that Harry’s legs burned to keep pace with him.

 

Harry caught glimpses of feathers and flesh when they passed through intersections between the tall buildings, but never long enough to really comprehend what he was seeing. He was much more distracted by the veins of magic he could see pulsing through the stone walls from the corner of his vision. They’d disappear as soon as he faced them head on, but as long as he stared directly at Briste’s feathered back, he could sense the iridescent sheen rippling around them like the film of a bubble.

 

The effect was somewhat hypnotic; then again, he’d always been more sensitive to magic than others. Just another bizarre thing to add to his report when he got back to the ministry. He squinted, trying to ignore the swirling colors that were starting to give him a headache. _Everything still looks so new_ , he mused surreptitiously grazing his fingertips along the cream and salmon flecked walls.

 

“Don’t touch anything!” Briste snapped, baring his teeth the way a wolf would. Harry balked, ripping his hand away from the wall, only just noticing they’d stopped in front of a sleek, black door at a building no more grand than any of the others they’d passed. Though, truthfully, any of them could have given the most gorgeous cathedral a run for its money even on its worst day.

 

“When we go in, you stay behind me until I introduce you. You do not fucking talk, get that?”

 

“I know what to do,” Harry snapped, bristling at the Veela’s tone. Hermione had drilled the customs and etiquette he’d need to know into him by the hour as soon as she’d gotten wind of his assignment. Hell, Harry was pretty confident he and Ron could do them in their sleep. Why she’d wanted her husband to learn too was beyond him, but he had the stiff muscles and sore wrists to prove it; Hermione was a vicious tutor.

 

Briste arched a single eyebrow, a hint of a sarcastic smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “We’ll see,” he grinned pushing open the door with one meaty hand and stepping out of Harry’s line of sight. Squaring his shoulders, Harry slipped quietly into the dusky room, closing the door behind him.

 

His pupils blew wide as he tried to adjust to the sudden darkness. The spacious oblong room, lit only by a handful of candles set into evenly spaced alcoves, was thick with a sweet, cloying smoke that made it difficult to take complete breaths without becoming utterly lightheaded. Harry raised the sleeve of his robe over the lower half of his face as if he could protect it from the saccharine perfume filling the air.

 

“My Alpha,” Briste whispered in reverence, bending his wings in front of his body and hunching forward into a low bow that snapped Harry out of his fleeting hesitation. Crossing his arms at his navel so that the tips of his fingers brushed his hip bones, he bent at the waist assuming a similar position and locked his gaze on the floor exactly four inches in front of his boots. A gasping moan caused his eyes to momentarily flicker up toward the raised dais situated at the far side of the room. Harry felt his mouth go dry at the scene before him.

 

A small body bounced rhythmically over a set of strong thighs, head thrown back and white wings stretched to the ceiling in abandon. Small, partially stifled cries floated across the room every few seconds, becoming louder when large hands curled around slim hips to yank the smaller Veela down with a harsh growl and a resounding slap of slick skin on skin.

 

Harry’s mouth fell open with an involuntary gasp of shock that quickly cut off when man underneath leaned forward and sank his teeth into the other’s shoulder locking mercurial eyes with Harry’s own. The smaller Veela screeched and arched within his partner’s hold as if trying to twist out of his grasp, but froze at the menacing growl muffled by his shoulder. Harry shook with a mixture of fear and embarrassment, ripping his gaze away from those silver eyes and glancing back down at the floor.

 

Malfoy was fucking someone. A thin shudder of disgust licked between his shoulder blades before he could contain it.

 

Harry pointedly refused to look up even when a vicious snarl tore through the room like the crack of a whip a few minutes later, signaling Malfoy’s climax. A wet sucking noise mingled with a keening cry had his eyes clenching shut with a forced grit of his teeth. He wondered if Briste was used to this kind of thing, from what little he could tell, the other Veela seemed perfectly at ease.

 

Obviously missing some kind of non-verbal signal, Harry reeled when the edge of a wing smacked him harshly underneath the chin, snapping his head back and forcing him off balance. He couldn’t stop the pained cry that ripped form his throat when his kneecap met solid granite, the smack forcing him to the floor with one hand outstretched to catch himself. His wand flew from his grasp, rolling several feet away with a tinkering sound. He was lucky it hadn’t snapped instead.

 

Steel-like feathers brushed over the back of his head and neck as if warning him to stay down.

 

“My Alpha,” Briste crooned, straightening from his obsequious stance, “I’ve brought one who would claim your protection, a wizard boy found scuttling in our den like a filthy rat.” Harry felt the feathers above him stiffen and tilt, digging painfully into the soft skin at the base of his skull. “Shall I dispose of it for you?”

 

Harry’s heart raced frantically when several moments of silence passed unbroken. Surely Malfoy hadn’t called him here to kill him?! His throat tightened in panic when the feathers started to undulate back and forth as if beginning a sawing motion.

 

Suddenly it all made so much sense. Malfoy had never wanted a truce with the Ministry; what had he to fear from wizards when his city was practically magic incarnate? All of those ignored treaties… and how did the Ministry respond? By sending their Savior, their most powerful defense, blindly into the beast’s lair. Merlin, how could they’ve been so naïve, how could Harry, who had known Malfoy’s sins better than anyone else?

 

A single syllable, drawled through the smoke almost carelessly, was enough to stop his heart.

 

“No.”

 

And set it hammering against his ribs.

 

Harry felt the wing snatched away from him as if burnt. Raising shaky fingers to the skin there, he winced when they came away sticky with blood.

 

“Forgive me,” Briste whined, sinking into a strange half-crouch with his throat bared. It was then that Harry realized he was being forced that way by the small, naked Veela that had been riding Malfoy just moments before. The clearly _male_ Veela. Harry wasn’t sure how many more shocking revelations he could take today.

 

“Enough! Take him,” Malfoy snapped drawing Harry’s eyes completely for the first time. Big, was the word that came to his muddled brain.

 

Everything about him was enormous—and frightening. Gone was the lanky, sharp-edged youth Harry remembered from his Hogwarts days and in his placed lounged a chiseled man sprawled elegantly across a stone throne with the lazy grace of a jungle cat. Bright alabaster skin covered long, powerful limbs and lengthy platinum hair brushed teasingly against taut pectorals. The swirling silver eyes that halted his scrutiny hypnotized him like a mouse against a serpent’s gaze. Until he saw the wings.

 

The feathers twitched and flared as if preening under his stare, one wing bent across his groin and the other hooked over the arm of his seat. Each was roughly ten feet or more in length, though it was difficult to tell where, exactly, they emerged from his back. The scattering of light around the room pierced the translucent barbs sending small prims of color dancing across the walls as they swelled and shivered. Harry was overcome by the child-like wonder that stemmed from his welling memories of angels and divine things.

 

A scuffle and muffled whimpering followed the heavy command as the tiny Veela dragged the much larger Briste from the chamber by his pinfeathers. Harry was so overwhelmed by it all that he couldn’t even feel the perverse glee that should have followed that sight. The room's smoke curled into him like a lover, purring through his blood and making his head spin. He had a fleeting thought that it was probably some kind of drug before Malfoy stepped from the dais like a King and Harry couldn’t help but watch.

 

Scooping up some sort of gauzy robe from where it had been hastily removed, Malfoy neatly covered himself before snatching up Harry’s wand from the floor where it lay a few feet from him. Pushing to his feet unsteadily, Harry stiffly resumed the bow he’d originally held, trying to ignore the fact that Malfoy was now carelessly twirling the Holly stick like a toy. He winced when talon-tipped bare feet entered his vision, expecting either a strike or curse, but received a gentle tap of fingers under his chin instead.

 

Capturing his jaw when Harry straightened, Malfoy turned his face into the light and examined him with a critical eye. “It’s been years since Hogwarts, yet you’re still the same as I remember,” he mused with a dissatisfied tilt of his head, using Harry’s wand to brush aside the few strands of hair that covered his faded scar.

 

“What, surprised I didn’t turn into a bloody bird like you?” Harry growled, reaching for his wand with seeker-sharp reflexes. Malfoy was faster.

 

“Not surprised,” he laughed, tucking Harry’s wand deep inside the folds of his robe, “but perhaps disappointed. I could have bullied you endlessly with wings this black,” he grinned, curling his fingers into Harry’s unruly hair and yanking until he received a pained hiss for his efforts. “Who knows, you might even have liked it; you always did seem to have a thing for masochism.”

 

“Fuck you.” Malfoy shook him hard for that.

 

“You’re not very good at this are you?” Malfoy sneered with slitted eyes, the expression painfully familiar on his alien visage.

 

“What, listening to your bullshit?” Harry grimaced, closing his eyes to keep the world from spinning. He felt decidedly nauseous and in no mood to deal with Malfoy’s massive superiority complex.

 

“Diplomacy,” Malfoy quipped dryly, pushing him away with a light shove. “Aren’t you supposed to be begging me to agree to your pathetic little treaty? Your Ministry must be pissing themselves right about now.”

 

Harry laughed harshly, swaying pathetically as he tried to regain his balance and failed. His tongue felt heavy and loose, plucking the first thought it found from his muzzy mind. “As if anything I do or say could actually influence you, you’ve got more than enough magic at your disposal to do whatever the hell you want,” he slurred, gesturing drunkenly to the magic he could see blurring the walls around them into a kaleidoscopic haze.

 

“Hmm, smart boy. So you see it then.” Malfoy purred, curving a wing around Harry’s back as if he meant to embrace him with it. “Perhaps you have changed, after all. I’ll try not to get my hopes up,” he laughed when Harry grabbed it with both hands, using it to support himself on weak knees.

 

“Let’s cut to the chase here, Malfoy,” Harry swallowed thickly, blinking his eyes when Malfoy seemed to stretch and grow like the reflection in a funhouse mirror. Every breath felt suffused with smoke; was he even getting any air? “We both know I can’t do shit about your vastly underdeveloped morals, so why am I here?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Malfoy sneered, using Harry’s unsteady hold on his feathers to pull him closer. Reaching into Harry’s robes, he gripped the golden chain around his throat like a leash, pulling until Harry was nearly forced onto his toes just to keep breathing. “You’re here to do what you do best-- save everyone,” he hissed with a malevolent glare.

 

Harry couldn’t be sure, but as he slipped into darkness, the brief flash of pain he saw in Malfoy’s eyes seemed to beg something else entirely.

 

Save _me._


	3. The Beast Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, new chapter is done. *Takes a bow*

Harry crinkled his brow, tensing when something soft brushed against the side of his face, disturbing his sleep and causing the surface beneath him to warp under its weight. Scrubbing at his cheek drowsily with the heel of his palm, he groaned, burying his face within the pillow while trying to ignore whatever had roused him—most likely Kreacher’s obsessive need to hawk over him at all times. Swatting at the house elf half-heartedly, he groped for the coverlet intending to pull it over his head.

 

“OW!” he yelled when the wispy touch turned to stone, cracking across the top of his skull hard enough to bruise.

 

“Get up,” Malfoy sneered, folding his left wing back from where it had hovered outstretched above him, revealing the periwinkle sheers of a canopy bed billowing softly in the wake of the retreating feathers.

 

“The fuck, Malfoy?” Harry snarled rolling to his knees in the center of the mattress, reaching for a wand that was conspicuously absent from his back pocket. “Where am I?” he growled, fisting the silver bedding beneath him as magic surged through his veins in preparation for a fight. Snapping his arm up reflexively at the blur hurtling toward his head, he caught what he realized belatedly were his glasses.

 

“Merlin, I knew you were blind, Potter, but I thought even you had the basic wherewithal to recognize a _bed_ ,” he drawled disgustedly, flicking his wings as if flinging away something dirty. Harry growled under his breath, feeling the rusted-blood tendrils of dark magic snaking beneath his skin ominously at Malfoy’s sheer arrogance. 

 

Gritting his teeth, he turned his head away sharply, thrusting his glasses onto the bridge of his nose so he could concentrate on something other than how part of his magic wanted to eviscerate the Veela in front of him. When he felt the remnants of Voldemort’s madness settle back into his core, he spoke.

 

“Fine. Then care to tell me what I’m doing in your bed?” Harry grimaced. In fact, Harry thought he could nearly feel his tongue rotting off from sheer thought of him and Malfoy’s bed being in the same sentence.

 

He watched as Malfoy’s almond eyes widened, his lips parting in a small ‘O’, before bursting into laughter. His body heaved with sharp, strangely musical barks of sound, while his wings swelled behind him in a great, unfurling shimmer of color, until Harry felt his own lips parting and eyes widening at the sight.

 

“Oh, _Potter_ ,” he sighed out between chuckles, smoothing a hand over the chest of his golden trimmed robes. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he grinned patronizingly as his wings settled back against him with a sharp snap. “While it is indeed interesting, if not supremely sad, that you still consider everything to be about _you_ , you should be so lucky."

 

Harry could feel his face heat, whether from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to say.

 

"One of my Greys put you out of the way after you had the audacity to faint in my antechamber," he leveled Harry with a look, "This was merely the nearest place he could be rid of you apparently." He stepped forward, cocking his head in a distinctly bird-like fashion that Harry fleetingly recalled Hedwig making whenever she spotted particularly succulent-looking prey. “Is that yet another hold-over from our Hogwarts days, I wonder, you fainting at the mere sight of a dark creature?” he smirked.

 

“Bastard,” Harry hissed softly, anxiety mostly gone at the feeling of sinking back into the nostalgic flow of child-like banter between them. Stretching a hand to the closest bed post, he pulled himself to his feet, keeping the mattress between them as a sort of make-shift barrier. A swell of darkness momentarily swept over his vision at the abrupt shift in equilibrium, threatening to send him to the floor. The sudden sharp taste of iron in his mouth had him grimacing with a shake of his head. Gripping a handful of the tied-back sheers, he glared at the Veela from under his shaggy fringe. 

 

“The incense earlier,” he frowned, “In your throne room—what was it?”

 

Malfoy preened for a moment before examining his claws disinterestedly. “Hmm? You mean the Hellbore? What of it?”

 

“Hellbore?!” Harry gaped, mouth falling open with an audible pop, “Are you positively insane?” He may have only barely completed the Potions requirements to be hired into the Ministry, but even a child knew the dangerous effects of inhaling Hellbore fumes—hysteria, loss of consciousness, seizures, and if one was supremely unlucky, even death. What the hell had Malfoy been thinking?

 

The blond’s eyes narrowed marginally, sweeping his gaze over Harry’s form with an air of disgust, or maybe pity. “No,” he intoned slowly, with painful emphasis, as one would to a recalcitrant child, “I am a Veela. Merlin, Potter, you work for the DRCMC and know _nothing_ about Veela? If it were anyone else I'd think the Ministry was deliberately trying to insult me,” he muttered, smoothing a hand over the platinum tail of hair pulled over one shoulder. "Then again," he sneered, glancing back at Harry, "Your intelligence does that quite well on its own."

 

Harry growled, wanting to beat that condescending look right off his stupid ferret face, but reined the impulse in at the last moment. He needed to stop letting their old rivalry sidetrack him from his job-- this was a Ministry-sanctioned negotiation and Harry was acting like a child, rising to the Veela's barbs; if anything he should pity the man.

 

Seeing that he wasn't going to get a response, Malfoy rolled his eyes, wandering over to the thin opening in the wall that served as a window. "An aphrodisiac, Potter. Hellbore fumes are used as a recreational aphrodisiac for Veela. One of the many reasons the Ministry sent you to grovel at my feet. I'm sure they're terrified their monopoly on the export business is going to dry up without my cooperation," he said.

 

Harry grimaced at the unwanted reminder that he'd seen Malfoy naked, but his reply was halted by a soft rustling and a small chirp coming from behind him.

 

A small boy, appearing no older than seven or eight with dirty grey wings shuffled forward on shaky knees shooting terrified glances Harry's way as he waddled by intent on reaching Malfoy who hadn't deigned to turn at the boy's approach. Falling into a prostrate bow at his Alpha's feet, he warbled miserably, rubbing his cheek beseechingly against the cold floor, his tiny, stained shift barely preserving the boy's modesty. Without bothering to look, Malfoy trailed the tips of his right wing softly over the boy's cheek prompting a small sigh in response.

 

"You brought it?" Malfoy asked lazily, continuing to touch the boy gently despite his cold tone. Veela used their wings as often as their hands, Harry recalled, with each feather packed with more nerve ending than a Human's fingertips. Meaning Draco was doing the equivalent of running his fingers through the young Veela's hair.

 

A tiny nod, and the boy was reaching into the front of his shift, pulling out... Harry's wand.

 

"Hey!" Harry barked at the sight, striding over to the boy who jumped at the outburst and started crying pathetically, clutching the holly stick to his chest. Before he could snatch it back, however, Harry yelped as the floor seemed to turn to liquid, rising up over his ankles before hardening back into granite and leaving him rooted to the floor. He knew he'd made a mistake when Malfoy slowly turned toward him with all the careful deliberateness of hunting predator, fangs out and wings flared to within striking distance. Their sharp feathered barbs, usually tucked carefully away, extended threateningly.

 

 _Oh, crap_ , Harry thought, struggling to recall the things Hermione had taught him about Veela submission. He couldn't very well kneel with his ankles stuck in the floor, though that would've been the best thing with the Alpha looking like he was about to gut Harry for threatening his Grey boy. Instead he arched his head sharply back and to the side as if trying to stare at the bit of ceiling over his shoulder, offering his hands palm out and loosely at his sides as he tried to appear non-threatening.

 

Malfoy stalked closer with an odd gait, feathers erupting over his neck and arms as his Veela side began to emerge. He gripped Harry's upper arms with his claws, close to drawing blood and wrapped his wings around him scratching the barbs up and down Harry's back in a warning that they could strip the flesh from his bones if he so desired.

 

"Mine!" he hissed, " _Not yours,_ " he punctuated with a nip to his jaw of rather sharp, beak-like lips. Harry yelped and the wings tightened painfully, a few of the barbs digging into his skin.

 

"Yours, your Grey! I'm sorry," Harry hissed in pain, fighting to hold still when every instinct screamed to get away.

 

Malfoy screeched, a hunting cry that left Harry temporarily deaf in one ear and made his eyes water. Harry realized at that moment that this was no longer the boy he'd known at Hogwarts. That Malfoy was gone; this was merely a dark creature with the face and memories of a boy he once knew and he felt inexplicably sad at the loss. Thinking back on everything he'd seen the Grey do, he pursed his lips and tried to emulate the soft warbling sound he remembered.

 

Malfoy paused at the noise, then tentatively, carefully ground his half-hard cock against Harry's stomach. Harry's mind blanked out.

 

"D-Don't," he gasped, pushing against his chest, "Malfoy _don't_!"

 

"Hold still," Malfoy growled, retracting his wing's barbs and using the soft undersides to pull Harry flush against him. "You-- that sound, _begging_ me to--" he panted, shaking his head as the feathers along his arms and across his cheeks pulled back beneath his skin. "Always fighting, always challenging and then you act like a Grey, like you're _mine_." He pushed Harry away, the granite releasing him with a soft squelch as he stumbled back.

 

Turning away with a forced effort, Malfoy stalked to the corner, to the Grey child staring at Harry like he was a _God_ and pulled the boy to his feet. Taking the wand from the young Veela he threw it angrily at the bed and pulled the boy as fast as his small legs could carry him to the door.

 

"Don't do that again," Malfoy said, pausing slightly in the doorway with his back to Harry before exiting with the Grey and slamming the door shut behind him. A telltale click of a lock echoed through the room.


	4. I need you to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, I'm on a roll. This will be the last new chapter for a bit so I made it a good one ;P

He couldn't stay here. _Would not_ stay here.

 

The Ministry be damned for all he cared. He was not going to let that-- that _thing_ keep him here a moment longer.

 

 _What was that?_ His mind screamed for the dozenth time, replaying Malfoy's assault again and again like some sort of broken pensieve fixed on a single memory. Malfoy had... touched him, had nearly killed him surely, but death had never frightened Harry like it did other people. It was the helplessness, he reasoned. The absolute, surety of the fact the Malfoy could have done anything...

 

He frowned, running a finger down the length of his battle-scarred wand where it lie innocuously on the bed. Though that wasn't strictly true, was it? He could have used Voldemort's magic; could have let it burst from his skin-- devouring Malfoy's flesh, his soul, dissolving his very magic until not a trace of him remained in the world.

 

But the truth was Harry hadn't wanted to. 

 

Taking time to himself after the war had finally given him the chance to really _think_ about everything he wanted out of his second life. He'd realized, painfully, after Lucius' trial how similar he and Draco had been-- that maybe, instead of an enemy, he could have had a friend. He'd only learned the truth after gaining access to confidential records following Lucius' sentencing, more due to who he was rather than any direct involvement in the case.

 

Draco had been abused.

 

His entire life, he'd been emotionally and sometimes physically abused by the very two people who should have cherished and protected him against the world. Looking at his actions during Hogwarts from that perspective made his unspoken pleas so painfully obvious that Harry felt ill.

 

_Look at me, LOOK at me._

 

_Can't you see? I'm here and I matter. Dear Merlin, please tell me I matter!_

 

He allowed his questing fingers to finally close around the Holly, lifting it from the bed with a reverence few wizards showed their wands. That boy didn't exist anymore. As much as it pained him to admit, Malfoy's actions had shown him that he couldn't be trusted; and while Harry did not cling to life, he didn't go actively seeking his final death either. He raised his wand.

 

"Alohomora!"

 

The handle jiggled feebly before settling in place once more. Harry blinked.

 

"Defodius!" "Finite Incantatem!" "Cesio Fragmentum!" Nothing.

 

_What on earth?_

 

Harry snarled, advancing on the door like a rampaging Hippogriff. "MALFOY!" he shouted, banging a fist against the unyielding door. "OPEN THIS DOOR, MALFOY! NEGOTIATIONS ARE OVER, DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU CAN'T KIDNAP A MINISTRY EMPLOYEE, YOU IDIOT!" 

 

"Dammit!" he hissed, kicking the door with the toe of his dragon hide boot. It created a rather unsatisfying bang that left him feeling no better and certainly no freer than before. "Six weeks’ vacation-- fully paid!" he growled, pacing back and forth in front of the gleaming brass door, "I swear to Merlin, Thaddius, you'll regret ever letting me out of your sight once I get out of here."

 

Of course that led him to wonder what he was even doing here in the first place. _Malfoy never did say_ , he thought suspiciously, _Other than some nonsense about saving people, but who is there to save?_ So far Harry had only truly gotten a decent look at three Veela since his arrival-- well, four if he counted Malfoy as one and not some unfortunate mutant like he was being to believe, but they had all seemed relatively fine. Certainly not in any sort of life-threatening danger. Harry scowled, he wasn't going to let Malfoy play on his 'saving people thing' as Hermione liked to call it, just to keep him around as some sort of petty childhood revenge. If the Veela had truly been interested in some sort of arrangement with the Ministry they would have done so already. There was no sense in Malfoy prolonging some treaty if he actually saw it as something beneficial for his Flight.

 

Which meant that his suspicions were probably correct in that whatever he was here for had no real connection to his job as a liaison with the Department, but was something personal. And of course there was the whole Malfoy being gay thing to consider, or at least bisexual, not that he'd seen any women yet. Harry certainly wasn't homophobic, having picked up quite early that such things were relatively accepted in the wizarding world. It was just a shock seeing Malfoy with the White Veela after bragging about his pureblood girlfriends time and time again while within earshot during their time at Hogwarts. Purebloods, especially, were expected to carry on their family line, but taking a look at the Black family tree tapestry when he'd been attempting to repair it one evening had opened his eyes quite a bit to what was possible with magic.

 

"Seems the lady doth protest too much, Malfoy," he sighed, flopping back onto the silver bed with his arms and legs akimbo. Talking to himself may have prompted some teasing on Ron's part over the years, but Harry found it soothing. Probably as a result of being locked in his cupboard for days on end with little to no human interaction. It kept him sane and focused.

 

He wondered if that White Veela was Malfoy's mate, or if Malfoy had just acquired some sort of harem since becoming the head Alpha. Within the realm of magical creatures it certainly wasn't unheard of. He knew that Merfolk and Dragons operated under a similar hierarchical familial structure with many 'broodmares' and one Alpha male so to speak. Though Veela usually tended to lean toward the more human-like dynamics including monogamy and the like. Though with this many Veela in one location, anything was possible he supposed.

 

Harry rolled to one side, tucking his wand arm under his head with a sigh. He missed his house, he missed his friends, hell, he even missed crotchety old Walburga, though to give her credit she had calmed down quite a bit after Harry had sworn a blood oath to restore the name of Black to its rightful place. Truthfully, he even missed cantankerous little--

 

"Stupid!" he cried, smacking his forehead. Why hadn't he thought of it before?!

 

"KREACHER!" he called.

 

"Master Harry is being waking Kreacher from his nice nap?" the elf scowled after appearing in a puff of black smoke, "Not that Kreacher is expecting common courtesy," he went on in an undertone.

 

Harry frowned, "Why were you even napping in the first place, Kreacher? It's the middle of the day!"

 

Kreacher pointedly turned his head away and sniffed haughtily before replying, " _What_ is the Master being wanting?"

 

"You watch that tone Kreacher, or when I mount your head with the others I'll make sure it's a bit crooked."

 

Kreacher looked scandalized. "Master wouldn't _dare_ or Kreacher will dye all Master's robes in hideous colors."

 

"Can't do that with your head on a wall," Harry grinned, always enjoying Kreacher's grouchy disposition.

 

The elf just scoffed. "Kreacher has ways," he mumbled slyly.

 

"Kreacher," he murmured, dropping his playful tone, "Can you get me out of here?"

 

Kreacher blinked at him before casually surveying the room. He glanced at the door with a look that stated quite clearly that Harry could himself open a door, but acquiesced nonetheless. Bending down, he traced one spindly finger along the floor before rubbing his fingers together as if testing the consistency of something. He popped out of the room for a split second before popping back with a scowl. "The wards be made for letting _small_ things through. Little birdies, little letters, little Kreachers-- not for letting Masters through."

 

Harry groaned, watching his plans for escape turn to dust. How in Merlin's name was he ever going to leave? And then he thought of it.

 

"Kreacher! Do you know who's, er, house this is?" Kreacher just gave him a blank stare. "It's Mistress Narcissa's son's."

 

"Master Draco?" Kreacher gasped, clutching a hand to his chest, no doubt fantasizing about serving an actual Black descendent rather than Harry as the appointed Head. "Master Harry's heir is being living here?"

 

"Uh... he's not my heir Kreacher. He's the Malfoy heir, you know Lucius' son? Plus we're not blood-related, thank Merlin, he just felt me up not ten minutes ago for Pete's sake!"

 

"Master Draco is being Master Harry's heir," Kreacher annunciated slowly with a glare, "Master Draco is being next in line to inherit the Black Lordship after Master dies. Also Kreacher is happy that Master Draco is wanting to be more involved with the Black family, but is not wanting to hear nasty details about disgusting wizard mating rituals."

 

"Oh! Gross Kreacher! Malfoy and I aren't... mating," he grumbled with burning cheeks. "And anyway, that's not what I meant. I mean you should serve Draco since he is a Black descendent by giving him a message from me."

 

"Kreacher is serving the noble house of Black," he bowed, ears flapping smugly, "What shall Kreacher be saying?"

 

"Tell him that if he doesn't want me to strangle him with my bare hands, he will release me this instant!" he growled.

 

Kreacher gave him an odd look and then shrugged before popping away. He returned less than a minute later.

 

"The Heir is being saying that Master Harry is being in no position to be making demands and that he is being disgusted that the Head of Black is belonging to you of all peoples," Kreacher grinned rather nastily, as if being happy to be able to speak to Harry thusly without repercussion.

 

Harry glared at the elf to show he wasn't buying it, before taking a moment to think. "Then tell him that if he doesn't at least come and speak to me, he can forget me helping him and that I refuse to save _anyone_ if he continues to treat me like a prisoner. I'll simply send you to the Ministry and tell them where Salus Novum is before requesting a full-scale search and rescue from the Aurors. I'm positive Ron would be more than happy to help."

 

Kreacher bowed once more before disappearing. He was considerably longer in returning this time.

 

"Master Draco is being saying that Master Harry is and always has been being a selfish prick."

 

"That's it? You were gone for nearly twenty minutes!" Harry goggled.

 

Kreacher shrugged before popping away, presumably back to Grimmauld Place. "Well that went well," Harry frowned, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

 

The door opened with a bang.

 

"You complete _wanker_ ," Malfoy hissed, storming into the rooming with glowing eyes and swirling feathers. "I leave you here for five minutes and you're calling for help from your house elf of all things? What? Is poor baby Potter too scared to be left on his own? Will you die if you aren't the center of attention every waking moment of your LIFE?!" he snarled, rounding his stance into an aggressive posturing typical of humanoid creatures the Department worked with.

 

"Back the fuck off, Malfoy," Harry snarled, raising his wand. "I'm not going to let you keep me here like some sort of a prisoner when I've done nothing wrong and you clearly aren't interested in letting me do my job, which is the only reason I'd be within 100 yards of your slimy arse in the first place!"

 

"Saint _Potter_ ," Malfoy snarled, "You think everything's about you, don't you? Bet the wizarding world would just dry up if you didn't show your face every day. They probably can't go ten minutes without singing the praises of their precious Savior. But you weren't there when I needed you were you? You weren't there when my own father cursed me to be this _thing_ before they could drag him off to Azkaban. Where were you THEN, hm? Perfect Potter and his perfect god-damn life, how terrible it must be for you."

 

Harry felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath him. Lucius had cursed his own _son_? "I- I didn't know--"

 

"Of course you didn't," he sneered, "It isn't like you work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or anything."

 

"I swear, Malfoy, I didn't even know you were a Veela until a week ago. In fact the only reason I'm here is because the Ministry told me you'd refused any other mediators."

 

"That's because I don't WANT any treaties! You think I give a damn about any of them, Potter?" he cried with a sweep of his wing toward the window and its tiny view of Salus Novum. "I don't want to be a fucking Veela, I don't want to be a fucking creature. I JUST WANT MY GOD-DAMN LIFE BACK!" he screamed, crumpling onto himself as he sank to the floor heaving silent sobs. "Damn him. God-damn him!" he sobbed, pounding a fist against the floor before his wings wrapped tightly around him like a glass cocoon.

 

Harry got off the bed, kneeling slowly until he was touching the wings hiding Malfoy's trembling form. He heard Malfoy gasp, the wings fluttering slightly under his fingertips and he gently, but firmly, parted the feathers before him. "I'm sorry," he told the blond when he could just barely see his face, "but I can't give you that."

 

"Duh, you idiot," Malfoy sniffed wetly, "You can't just turn off your genes, once they've been activated. And no matter what my parents claim, there's a reason the Malfoy's have always been blond."

 

Harry chuckled lightly, smoothing back the remaining feathers obstructing his view. "Then tell me. Tell me how I can help you," Harry said.

 

"In a few weeks, on the full moon, the last of Europe's Veela will have arrived. There's going to be a celebration of my ascension and at that time I'll be forced to take a mate by the Veela magic that sustains this place. I'll be trapped here forever. That connection, the mating, will bind me to that Veela and every other in Salus Novum, to their network of magic which can only exist in this place." He looked up with true fear in his eyes. "They'll never let me go, Harry. _Never_."

 

"What can I do?" Harry asked again, the whisper passing between numb lips.

 

Malfoy closed his eyes and steeled himself. 

 

"I need you to be my mate."


End file.
